


At My Doorstep

by bilboakenshield27



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Awesome Bilbo Baggins, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Dwarves, Elves are Dicks, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Protective Bilbo Baggins, Soulmates, Thilbo, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, bagginshield, lobelia is the worst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilboakenshield27/pseuds/bilboakenshield27
Summary: Bilbo has three jobs, is homeless, and sleeps outside the doors of Erebor Industries-one of the biggest jewelry stores in downtown Dale. Thorin is the CEO of Erebor Ind., and they see each other every morning. While Thorin thinks that Bilbo is just a pest and a nuisance, he might be more wrong then he's ever been before...Modern AU where Bilbo does more for Thorin than he knows, and Thorin is a complete jerk (but he comes around in the end, so its fine yay bagginshield)





	1. The Most Annoying Homeless Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first thilbo fanfic so don't kill me!!! Updates may be a little slow but I promise to not orphan this story!!

            Thorin pulled into the parking lot with a sharp turn, mumbling swears and curses under his breath. His morning had been a novel of devastation. First his alarm had not gone off properly, true to every bad day cliché, and when he did wake up it was to a huge crash of shattering ceramic. Kili, who apparently had gone to another frat party that past night, had been trying to get some pain medication for his hangover when he demolished half of their dishes in a fantastical sweep of their cupboard.

            After yelling at Kili and his brother Fili (who also had a hangover, the brat) to clean up the mess and to inform them that they would be paying for those plates, he had gotten into his car only to find that the gas meter was twitching and most decidedly too low for comfort. After he’d refilled his tank (and was that _really_ the price of gas these days?) he’d checked his watch to find that he was late. He’d barely have enough time to stop by his usual coffee at the Prancing Pony.

            He’d waited forever in a ridiculously long line because he was slightly later than usual, and when he finally got his drink he looked up to find that the barista was a flipping _elf._ She twirled her auburn hair while she was making his latte, and when he finally reached to take it from the tree-shagger the stupid barista knocked it over all his brand new shoes he’d gotten last week. Fuming, he didn’t even bother waiting for them to fix another latte and stormed back to his car. He’d preceded to catch every single red light on the way to work, and he’d gotten stuck behind this idiotic human on her phone who obviously didn’t know the difference between the gas pedal and the brakes.

            By the time he pulled up in front of Erebor Industries, Thorin’s mood, which would have been thundering on a normal day, had turned pitch black.

            So when he saw that blasted menace again, he _snapped._

            Erebor Industries was located very close to downtown Dale, and therefore catered its jewelry to upscale, high-end, and, needless to say, _rich_ associates. After all, he was a dwarf, and that meant his company sold dwarf craftsmanship. Only the very best would be accepted, and nothing even slightly less.

The downside to having a store located downtown, however, were the low-lifes that would often show up.     

            Or in this case, one specific low-life.

            There, curled up in a miserable ball with only a thin blanket to protect him from the chill of the morning, was the most annoying homeless person Thorin had ever known. He was a small hobbit, with enormous and smelly hairy feet to match his smelly clothes. For every single day for the past three months, the hobbit would sleep right in front of Erebor’s doors, a small ball of rags and wretchedness.

            Thorin had lost count of the times he’d called the police on the hobbit—but he’d always managed to escape, like some skilled burglar. The police chief, Bard, had simply looked at him with a frown after the fifth time he’d called him, so Thorin had decided to take matters into his own hands. Each time Thorin arrived in the mornings, Thorin would kick him out of the way, sometimes metaphorically, sometimes physically. The hobbit—Bilbo, he thought his name was, or maybe it was Belbo? Some dumbass name like that—looked up when he heard the roar of Thorin’s car. Immediately he smiled a one-hundred-watt smile at Thorin and gave a small wave, his dirty blond curls bobbing.

            Thorin almost screamed with rage.

            After parking and slamming his car door shut with a less-then satisfying thud, Thorin strode wordlessly over to the tiny hobbit. Thorin would not deny that the way the hobbit’s eyes widened slightly in fear at his angry approach brought him a twisted sort of pleasure. Bilbo hastily stood up, his small legs shaking from tiredness and malnutrition, but Thorin did not notice this. He was very tall for a dwarf, and he easily towered over the shivering hobbit, wide hickory eyes looking up at him with surprise. Thorin said nothing, just looked at him with his dirt smudged and bruised skin and his unkempt hair. After a second, Bilbo gave a wobbly smile, like he wasn’t very used to being so closely observed, but the smile became more confidant the longer it was allowed to survive. Bilbo said a quick good morning, his huge feet shuffling.

            Infuriating.

            Thorin punched the smile right off of his face, taking an almost puerile delight in the way the small hobbit tumbled to the asphalt. Almost immediately after it he felt guilty—after all, he’d never really _hurt_ Bilbo before. His kicks had been more forceful toe nudges than anything else.

            Any guilt Thorin had about punching the small hobbit was banished when the creature glanced up at him with a grin. Growling low, he moved towards the hobbit again, his stance threatening all by itself.

            “Get lost you useless hobbit!”

            As Bilbo scrambled away, barely managing to snag his blanket as he scurried off, Thorin yelled after him.

            “And stay the fuck away!”

            Bilbo sent a cheeky grin over his shoulder in response, causing Thorin to yell even more curses after him. By the time Thorin stopped the steady flow of swear words and insults, the sound of Bilbo’s laughter had faded to an echo in the morning air.

\-----------------_________________________________----------------- 

            After that, the day proceeded just like normal. He complained to Dwalin, his chief of security, about Bilbo again.

            “Get that menace away from my store.”

            “Sorry Thorin, but he’s as stubborn as they come.”

            Balin, Dwalin’s brother and also Thorin’s chief adviser and veritable third limb, walked by.

            “Are we talking about that lovely Bilbo chap who always sleeps in front of the doors?”

            Both Thorin and Dwalin looked up at him, before Dwalin nodded and Thorin resumed his brooding.

            “Yeah. The twerp’s a pest. He’s almost as stubborn as this idiot over here,” Dwalin responded, jamming his thumb in Thorin’s face. Thorin only growled again.

            “I actually find him quite nice. I talked with him the other morning and we had a lovely conversation about gardening,” Balin tilted his head in remembrance, his eyes alight with mischief.

            Thorin scoffed.

            “The only proper conversation that mongrel should have is with the bottom of my shoe.”

            Dwalin grunted, but Balin frowned.

            “Now that’s just unfair. That’s like judging Kili for being a complete light-weight. It’s not his fault he can’t hold his liquor, and Bilbo can’t help the fact he’s homeless.”

            Thorin frown only deepened.

            “Has he ever heard of getting a job, Balin? He can help himself by getting a job instead of lazing around all day.”

            Dwalin grunted again. Balin persisted.

            “It’s not that easy to simply ‘get a job’ Thorin. Plus, if you ever spent any time talking with him you’d realize that he does have a job—he’s actually got three day jobs. He’s not just lazing around.”

            Thorin still wasn’t impressed. In fact, the thought of Bilbo having three jobs only made him madder, though he couldn’t quite pin-point the reason why. And surely if the hobbit had three jobs, he’d have enough money for a house, or even just a simple apartment? Maybe he was a drug addict. That would certainly explain the dopey smiles.

            There was a pause where Balin looked like he really wanted to say something, but Thorin interrupted him before he could speak.

            “How do you know Kili’s a light-weight?”

            Balin’s face turned sour.

            “He drunk called me last night.”

            Dwalin laughed.


	2. Any Other Place to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin scowls. Bilbo smiles. Kili and Fili have some fluff. F you Lobelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin totally has a crush and he can't admit it and its adorable haha

The next morning had been slightly better.

            Kili and Fili, the two loveable menaces, had cleaned up all the broken dishes and had already gone and bought new ones. Kili wanted a ride to the Prancing Pony, but when he started making moon eyes at the auburn haired elf Thorin threatened to disown him.

            He eventually dropped him off at school for one of his first lectures of the day. Apparently, there was an author visiting them by the name of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. Thorin had heard of her and her famous novel, “The Hobbit.” It’d been a best-seller for several years running since its publishing and had won several prestigious awards. Kili was really excited about it.

            “I’m really excited to see Mrs. Sackville Baggins! This is the first time she’s giving a lecture to any college or university. O my goodness Uncle do you think I might get to talk with her? What if we become friends or something? I want to get her autograph—”

            Thorin pulled up as close as he could to the Iron Hills lecture hall. Kili was rambling and amusing, so Thorin didn’t tell him to get out of the car but merely shoved him lightly on his arm. Laughing, Kili twirled out of the car and ran over to where Fili was waiting on an old bench. Thorin allowed himself a small smile at the sight of the two talking excitedly about the new author.

            When Thorin pulled up at Erebor Industries again that day, he only sighed when he saw the small form huddled in front of the doors.

            Bilbo smiled and waved at him again, and Thorin tried to ignore the twinge in his heart at the huge blossoming bruise swelling on Bilbo’s cheek. When he finally made it out of his car and towards the door, he merely glared at Bilbo after he said his customary “Good Morning!”

            “Don’t you have any other place to be?”

            Bilbo only grinned wider at the question, his dark brown eyes glittering in the early morning sunlight with an excitement Thorin recognized from his nephews.

            “No, not really.”

            His voice was beautiful. Thorin actually had to blink for a moment, staring at the grimy hobbit, before he mentally slapped himself. Regaining his composure, he scowled horribly down at him.

            “Well, I suggest that you scram before I give a matching black eye on the other side.”

            Bilbo didn’t look the least bit fazed, and Thorin found himself clenching his fists in anger once more.

            “Fuck off, you worthless piece of shit! I said leave!”

            Bilbo nimbly grabbed his hole-infested blanket from behind Thorin.

            “Have a nice day!” he said, a smile politely shining on his face, before he ran away. Thorin watched him leave. His huge hobbit feet were bleeding from cracked callouses, and the hobbit was so dirty that he would probably be cleaner even if he just looked at a bath.

            Shaking his head in irritation, Thorin pushed open the door to Erebor, ready to drown himself in work.

\-----------------------------____________________________________----------------------------

            “Aren’t Hobbits normally well off?”

            Surprisingly, it had been Dwalin who had asked the question.

            Thorin didn’t even look up from his work, but he did not withhold the surprise from his voice.

            “Are they? Or are the normal incomes of Hobbits more interesting than this latest smelting method, Dwalin?”

            Ignoring Thorin’s scolding, Dwalin continued. Even though he was head of security, he wasn’t Balin’s brother for nothing—he often helped Thorin with Erebor’s business—and now he seemed to take after his brother in his speaking for the hobbit.

            “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve seen any hobbits on the streets before aside from Bilbo. They all have very tight knit families, just like us.”

            Thorin didn’t even bother grunting in acknowledgement. He was getting a lecture about hobbits from _Dwalin_ of all people.

            “My friend in Uni had a hobbit roommate. He used to tell me how hobbits support their own, and often provided food and shelter for their family members until they can get back on their feet.”

            Thorin wasn’t sure what was worse, the self-important way Dwalin was talking or the horrible clenching that had clutched onto his heart.

            If hobbits had family that helped support them, then where was Bilbo’s family? Shouldn’t they be helping him? Giving him a place to stay instead of the cold hard asphalt in front of a top-of-the-line jewelry store downtown?

            When he got home, he decided to muster up the courage to ask Bilbo if he had a family. It was a bit of a personal question, but Thorin had been yelling at him for coming on almost four months now. Surely that was enough to warrant some sort of personal information?

            The next day Thorin drove a slightly under the weather Fili with Kili to school. The two were mumbling to each other in the back seat, Fili’s face plastered to Kili’s chest. Kili was gently rubbing circles into his brother’s blond hair.

            Trying to distract the two, Thorin asked about the lecture with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

            Kili wrinkled his nose.

            “Oh it was awful! She prattled on forever about stuff that had absolutely nothing to do with the book. She’s really lost a lot of my respect. Really, it was just…”

            “Wrong.” Fili croaked from the crook of Kili’s neck.

            “Yeah, it was just wrong. I don’t know what it was, but it was just…it wasn’t…” Kili flailed for a moment, before tightening his hold on his brother like a seven-year-old instead of a twenty-four-year-old.

            Thorin frowned, slightly disturbed, and dropped off the two brothers at university. Fili wasn’t that sick after all, and he was too stubborn to stay home without his brother anyway. Thorin wouldn’t admit it, but he was worried about him. Really, Thorin was always worried about Fili and Kili. They’d purposely chosen a university close to Thorin just so they could live with him instead of living in a dorm. Thorin loved them.

            It took him a while, what with those cursed elvish baristas at the Prancing Pony and bad traffic, but eventually Thorin got to Erebor.

            Thorin looked at the door out of habit, fully expecting to see his customary smile and wave.

            But Bilbo wasn’t there.

            For a second, Thorin let his car idle, staring at the empty space where normally a small resident would be twisted up in his thread bare blanket fighting off the beginnings of the autumn chill.

            But he wasn’t there.


	3. Soul-Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Bilbo and a slightly confused Thorin

A long time ago, when Bilbo still had a home and a family that cared for him, he had not believed in soul-mates. He thought the idea ridiculous and cliché—certainly there could be an immediate attraction to someone, but it was not _love._ Love at first sight didn’t exist—there was no way that there was someone born for him, fated to be with him, his _destined One._ The fairy-tales had gotten it wrong again.

            His mother had always told him about soul-mates as a child, and he had always listened, wide eyed, and believed her.

           “It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense,” she whispered into his pointed ears conspiratorially in the darkness right before bed time. Belladonna had taken one look at Bungo in Bag End Bookstore and they’d immediately fallen in love. How often Bilbo had heard the story. The sudden lack of breath, the pounding of the heart, the knowledge that this, this person, this person was the one.

           “Soul-mates” were so rare in the Shire that Belladonna and Bungo had been the first in many decades, and Bilbo was certainly not the only hobbit in the town that had doubts. And while Bilbo would never say that his mother and father had not been deeply in love, after their death he had tried to distance himself from anything that reminded him of his parents—including soul-mates. He told himself that his mother’s Took side must have taken her imagination on another one of her beloved adventures, swept up in the love she had had for her husband.

            Soul-mates? Hogwash.

            And, begrudgingly, Bilbo also admitted the cliché that he had, in fact, found his soul-mate after having been so adamantly opposed to the idea.

            Bilbo remembered it very clearly, and he would often replay the memory on particularly cold nights, huddled up on the freezing concrete with nothing but a scratchy, thin blanket for warmth.

            He had been homeless for about a month when he first saw him. Bilbo had been hurrying from one job to another, his poor hobbit feet slamming hard against the concrete. Downtown Dale was massive, and one of his jobs was almost four miles away from the other one. While this was not a particularly long distance in a car, for a small hobbit on foot it was quite the trek. He’d often have to run the entire way in order to make it one time—he couldn’t afford to lose any money because he was late. Soon he came to an intersection which led to a short cut he knew that circled around through a maze of jewelry stores. First, he’d have to take a left by Greenwood Co., a store that sometimes seemed more like a prison cell than an actual jewelry store. Just one look at the small windows and the tall, almost tree like architecture gave Bilbo the creeps. After making it past Greenwood all he’d have to do was take a right and swing around Erebor Industries. From there it was a clear shot to his work: a waiter at Lake Town BBQ. It was his lowest paying job, after working as a cashier at Bree Supermarket and being a janitor for the Rivendell Inn.

            As he was waiting at the intersection in front of Greenwood Co., Bilbo saw him.           

            There was no epiphany moment. There was no ‘Aha!’ or a sudden gasp of realization. No, Bilbo simply saw him, there in his sleek black car. A dwarf, with a coffee beard and matching hair, long and flowing, flecked with the occasional grey. His features were striking and imposing, and even through the tint of the car window Bilbo could see his hawk like eyes, pinning down all in their gaze. The dwarf was on the phone and was scowling rather handsomely when someone on the other line must have said something, causing the dwarf to smile.

            And oh by the Valar his _smile._ He was stunning, absolutely breath-taking. Bilbo found himself wanting to make the dwarf smile like that, over and over and over again. The light turned green, and the dwarf sped off, completely oblivious to the pair of hobbit eyes glued upon him.

            Before Bilbo knew what he was doing, he was running through traffic. Ignoring the honks and yells and slamming breaks, Bilbo followed the car and the dwarf all the way to Erebor Industries, where he pulled up into the front-most parking spot. Bilbo watched him get out, sleek and majestically professional. Even after the dwarf had disappeared behind Erebor Industries’ doors, Bilbo stood there. It felt like he had been chained to the dwarf with some invisible padlock. He found himself feeling the most hope he’d had since Frodo had…

            Bilbo had shaken his head. There was no time for this now. Obviously, his dwarf worked at Erebor Industries. Bilbo hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him as he worked at Lake Town, his boss telling him to _hurry up, gosh damn it Bilbo pay attention_ , the image of the dwarf burned into his mind.

            At the time, Bilbo had scolded himself. _You have more important things to worry about!_ He’d angrily thought. _No need to go mooning after rich dwarves!_

            After he’d finished up at Lake Town, he’d walked in the dark of the night. When he passed by Erebor Industries, he’d stopped and looked up at the building. It was nothing like Greenwood Co. Erebor had giant geometric architecture that looked like carved stone, strong and steadfast. Bilbo must have stood there for some time, because before he knew it he heard someone just ahead of him.

            It was a man, scraggly and homeless too, by the looks of it. Bilbo eyed him warily. The man kept looking over at Erebor Industries, the look of want and greed so evident on his face that Bilbo’s eyes had widened. Sensing the man’s thoughts, Bilbo unthinkingly ran over to the doors of Erebor, sending a glare the man’s way.

            The man looked at the hobbit, then back up at Erebor, before turning around with a mumbled curse.

            Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, something was going his way.

            Making up his mind, Bilbo sat down. He’d sleep here for the night, just in case any other potential robbers came by. Bilbo never could afford to stay in one spot for long, as people often reported him to the police, and the sections of town where homeless people often frequented were so far away from his workplaces that even with public transportation he’d have trouble getting there. On front of Erebor Industries would do just fine!

            The next morning, Bilbo woke up to someone shaking his shoulders. His vision blurry and his mind still fuzzy from sleep, he sat up, slightly dazed.

            Standing above him with the most fierce-some scowl he’d ever seen was _his dwarf._ Bilbo blinked up at him, before realization kicked in and he scrambled onto his feet.

            “G-g-good-morning!” he tripped over his own words, a smile growing rapidly wider and wider the longer he stared up at the dwarf before him. Up close, Bilbo could see that his eyes were a sharp blue, deep and deep and deeper, like a massive lake, dark and windless, reflecting a crown of stars from their depths. The sight nearly stole his breath away.

            The dwarf huffed, clearly less than pleased to find a smelly, homeless hobbit in front of his store.

            Thinking quickly, Bilbo tried to keep some of his manners that had been so beaten into him by his father.

            “Bilbo Baggins, at your service!”

            He gave a short bow, his feet shuffling a little nervously.

            The dwarf looked mildly confused, as if Bilbo’s introduction was not only unwanted, but unexpected as well. In fact, the dwarf was so surprised that he accidently introduced himself as well.

            “Thorin Oakenshield at yours.”

            Bilbo’s smile must have been blinding, and Thorin clearly looked annoyed.

            But for once, Bilbo was happy.


	4. Answers

For a second, Thorin let his car idle, staring at the empty space where normally a small resident would be twisted up in his thread bare blanket fighting off the beginnings of the autumn chill.

            But he wasn’t there.

            He didn’t say anything to Balin or Dwalin, but he overheard them talking. They hadn’t seen him either. Bilbo just wasn’t there.

            Great, Thorin thought. He’d finally been rid of that menace. The most annoying homeless person Thorin had ever known had finally left. The pest was finally gone. Finally.

            But when the next day rolled around and Bilbo wasn’t there, Thorin could not stop the clamping of his heart in worry. Where was he? Where was the hobbit? It had been very cold out last night, had he been alright? Where was he?

            The third day Bilbo hadn’t shown up, Dwalin approached him pale faced.

            That was a sight Thorin had never seen before.

            Thorin was going to ask what was wrong, but the words caught in his throat and he ended up nodding at his friend instead.

            Dwalin lead him over to a computer and after a few moments he pulled up the security cameras that were focused on Erebor’s door. Thorin gulped.

            The time ticking away in the corner of the screen, Thorin watched Bilbo walk up to the door and huddle into his usual ball of warmth, the blanket a tight cocoon around his petite hobbit frame. The date was about four months ago, back when Bilbo had first started sleeping in front of Erebor.

            Dwalin fast forwarded it, going through several days, showing Thorin the different scenes. The first one was harmless enough. A group of humans had walked up by the door. Bilbo had stood up from where he’d been curled up, glaring at them. When one of the humans took out a spray can and made to spray across the glass of the front of the building, Bilbo threw his blanket at him and started running after them. The group of humans did not take kindly to this, and a short scuffle broke out. Bilbo, so painfully and obviously outnumbered, was beaten rather badly. But the humans didn’t vandalize the pristine store front of Erebor, and Bilbo had curled back up on the asphalt.

One time another dwarf tried to break through the window. Bilbo tackled him to the ground, fighting him with all his hobbit might, before the dwarf finally ran away. Just the next night, three trolls tried to break into the store, but had been intercepted by Bilbo, standing like a small bug in front of the three giants. Thorin watched in amazement as Bilbo talked and talked and talked, until eventually the trolls left at the first hint of dawn, the store completely unharmed. Another night, a group of elves walked by, and one of them spat on Erebor’s doors. Thorin watched as Bilbo grabbed the elf by his coat-lapels and his long fine hair and looked him dead in the eyes, threatening and serious. The elves quickly left after they’d talked for a while, leaving the store alone. But Thorin knew that whatever they had said to the hobbit must have been truly awful, because the poor creature began to cry, his little frame wracked with the force of his sobbing. Just looking at Bilbo’s tear-stained face, Thorin knew that if he ever met those elves they’d not live to see the light of the next day.

            Thorin watched how almost every night for the past four months Bilbo had evaded the police trying to get rid of him while protecting Erebor from downtown Dale. He watched as the morning rolled by, and he watched himself kick the hobbit awake and yell at him to leave even after the hobbit had waved a small wave so happily and innocently.

            Thorin felt sick. The throbbing inside his chest had made its way up into his head, and now there was a throbbing behind his eyes that blurred his vision and made Thorin abruptly leave the surveillance monitor despite Dwalin’s call of his name.

\-----------------------------____________________________________----------------------------

            The first couple nights that Bilbo stayed in front of Erebor were not that bad. Low lifes would always pass by and try and vandalizes the storefront and he would glare at them to the best of his ability. But nothing really major happened the first couple of days he was there.

            He always woke up early enough to see Thorin come in from work, and sometimes he did not wake up early enough and he was gently shaken awake by the dwarf, a huge scowl marring his face. At first Bilbo could only really manage to say good morning to him, as embarrassed as he was. After all, this dwarf was his _soulmate._ It was very humbling to even be able to talk with him.

            But one dwarf he didn’t have qualms with talking to was one of Thorin’s associates, Balin. Balin was a lovely fellow who always came either right before or right after Thorin arrived, and he was genuinely curious about Bilbo’s life. They often talked for a good while until Bilbo was forced to go to his first job, and in this way Bilbo learned more and more about his soulmate.

            Thorin Oakenshield was the CEO of Erebor Industries, which was a company that had been passed down through his family—the Durin family—for several generations. He had a sister and two nephews, both of whom caused quite a bit of trouble based on Balin’s grumbling. And Thorin was single. Bilbo had let out a sigh at that news. He didn’t know what he would have done if Thorin was already in a relationship.

            A week after Bilbo started sleeping in front of Erebor, Bilbo asked Balin if dwarves had soulmates.

            Balin had raised an eyebrow, his coffee tilting dangerously to the side as he looked at Bilbo wrapped up in his dirty blanket.

            “Why do you ask, laddie?”

            Bilbo had shrugged, gulping.

            “No real reason, I was just curious.”

            Balin gave him a look, a look that was heavy and that knew exactly what was going on, a look that saw right through him.

            “Dwarves do indeed have Ones, but it is complicated. Some dwarrows never find their One, and some simply don’t have one. Usually it takes a while for a dwarf to realize a person is their One, and it is not uncommon for a dwarf to realize he has found his One until it is too late, and they have gone.”

            Balin had gotten a distant look in his eyes, and Bilbo had nodded his head respectfully and tried not to let this new information affect him. He didn’t want to get his hopes up after all. Maybe it was just going to take Thorin a while for him to realize that he was Bilbo’s soulmate. But a small voice inside of him, a voice that wasn’t really small but enormous and threatening like a rabid wolf in the corner, hissed at him that maybe Bilbo wasn’t Thorin’s One at all and that he was doomed to a life of loneliness and rejection.

             Bilbo did his best to ignore the voice, but it was getting harder and harder. Thorin seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with finding a homeless hobbit on his doorstep until finally he threatened Bilbo with calling the police. The next day, the police did show up, and Bilbo had been late to work because he had had to run away from the tall human officers.

            And it was late that same night, after going to his three jobs, knowing that his soulmate didn’t want him, had gone so far as to _call the police_ on him, that Bilbo went to go see Frodo.

            Whenever Bilbo started to feel bad for himself or when the whole world just seemed like it would come crashing down around him, he always went to go see Frodo. It was late at night, but not late enough that visiting hours were over at the hospital, and he only had to give a friendly hello to the receptionist (a nice dwarf named Bofur) before he was walking down the familiar white hallways. He had been in this hospital many times—to see his mother and his father, and of course, to see Frodo. The nurses on duty all cheerfully said hello to him, and he said hello to them all back, by name.

            When he got to the door he was looking for, he took a deep breath, trying to center himself, before he opened it.

            Frodo was sleeping, his expression peaceful if not gaunt and pale, and he looked so small in the hospital bed. His black curls starkly contrasted with the white of his pillow and of his pallor, and if not for the heart monitor beeping steadily next to him Bilbo would have thought him dead.

            It had not been so long ago when Frodo was diagnosed with Leukemia, and the cancer had spread so fast—almost as fast as the cost. And though Bilbo had not been poor, he found himself helpless against the stacking fees and treatment prices. Bilbo had adopted Frodo after his parents had died, and it was physically painful seeing Frodo fighting for his life. It reminded him too much of his parents, bloody and broken from the car accident, the whine of the heart rate monitor flat lining—

            Bilbo had dropped everything. He had been a writer, and therefore didn’t make that much in the first place, so he started to take extra jobs. The manuscript he had worked his entire life on was placed to the side. There was no room for words when one needed money. 

            Desperately, Bilbo had turned to his family for aid. Surely, they would help Frodo. Surely.

            But all he had been met with was half-hearted apologies. Lobelia had been the worst. He had come begging to her door, actually falling on his knees on her doorstep when she wouldn’t let him inside.

            In the end, he ended up selling his house.

            Almost all the money he made went to Frodo’s treatment, paying interest, and the little that he had left over he reserved for food. Being homeless really wasn’t that bad, Bilbo told himself. As long as Frodo got what he needed, being homeless really wasn’t that bad.

            He stayed by Frodo’s side for a while, just sitting there. He wasn’t sure for how long he sat at his nephew’s bedside, but he knew that he’d have to leave soon.

            Because despite everything, despite being kicked awake in the mornings by the one who he was destined to love, he could not help himself. Finding Thorin as his soulmate gave him hope, even if Bilbo wasn’t Thorin’s soulmate in return. Because maybe, just maybe, things might be alright. If Bilbo had a soulmate, that meant that maybe the universe hadn’t abandoned him. Maybe Bilbo wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

            So he had returned to Erebor’s doors, even knowing that his soulmate had called the police on him just that morning, because he would keep fighting for as long as he could. There was still hope.

            Bilbo got into a lot of scuffles while he stood guard in front of Erebor. He’d never really gotten into fights before, and his short stature only added to his disadvantages. By the time Thorin came around to scowl at him in the morning, Bilbo was sometimes bloodied and bruised and sore.

            Those mornings Thorin would always look at him strangely. Balin always asked him if he was alright, his brow creased with concern, and Bilbo would merely wave him off and ask how Thorin was. And for some reason, Balin would tell him that Thorin was always more agitated on days when Bilbo was looking slightly worse for wear.

            “He’s started caring about you, though he’d probably kill someone if you pointed it out to him.” Balin had commented, a small twinkle in his eye that betrayed his mischief making.

            Bilbo huffed a laugh, blushing slightly, because that wasn’t true. Thorin didn’t _like_ him. He barely tolerated him, often cursing at him, and Bilbo would often run away from him with a laugh on his lips because even though it hurt, a disgruntled Thorin _was_ amusing. Thorin never really hurt him physically anyway—the most he ever did was give him a slightly hard nudged with his shoe anyway. And words were just words, after all.

            It was late at night when the elves came, probably around three o’clock, and they were obviously rich kids out having a good time when their parents thought them asleep in their beds. Younglings, but rich and arrogant ones—and no other races hated each other more than elves and dwarves.

            When the first elf spit on the store, Bilbo immediately stood up.

            “Hey, show some respect!”

            The elf smirked, and all the others laughed with him. It was not nice laughter.

            “And why would I do that, halfling?”

            Before Bilbo could interject that he wasn’t half of anything, thank you very much, the elf continued.

            “After all, this store is owned by that bastard dwarf, Oakenshield. If he were here I would spit in his fac—”

Bilbo did not know what came over him, just that suddenly he was angry, and he had reached up on his toes and yanked to at his coat lapels, bringing the elf’s face down and inches away from his own.

            Bilbo didn’t say anything. He was so overcome with rage that he was sure that he’d just start shouting meaningless things if he opened his mouth, so instead he just stared the elf right in his surprised, wide eyes.

            After a moment the elf jerked himself back, wrenching his long hair and jacket from out of Bilbo’s clenched hands. Sneering down at him, the other elves were silent. Bilbo watched their surprise turn to revulsion.         

            “Go away.” Bilbo said coldly.  The elf merely sniggered.

            “Let me ask you something halfling: if you care so much about those wretched dwarves to go defending their honor, why are you out here in the cold? They are probably disgusted with you, as useless and ugly a creature as you are.  I would understand not wanting to help something so worthless.”

            “Why don’t you just leave you son of a bitch!” Bilbo yelled at him, holding his ground. The elves turned around, their noses high in the air, and quickly left, apparently fed up with dealing with someone as lowly as Bilbo.

            It was only after they had gone that Bilbo allowed himself to cry.

            Because the elf’s words had struck too close to home, too close to his fears, and hearing them spoken allowed was a little bit painful. But Bilbo steeled himself as quickly as he could, trying to get a few hours of sleep before work the next day. He’d woken up to Thorin growling in his ear, a small kick to his back, and when Bilbo told him to have a good day Thorin only stormed off, seemingly angrier than he had been before.

            And that hurt too, in its own way, but as the weeks progressed into months Bilbo learned more and more new things about Thorin that seemed only to make Bilbo more fascinated with him.  

            Despite being moody and grumpy most times, Bilbo saw how much Thorin cared about those around him. Sometimes he would come in with two coffees and ask if Bilbo had spoken with Balin yet, obviously having treated his associate to a latte. Balin often told Bilbo about how much Thorin loved his nephews, and how he had sacrificed his own dream of becoming an architect to run the family business so that the two boys would have the money to go to college. And even though Thorin always professed his hatred for the hobbit, he was always betrayed by Balin, who told Bilbo how many times Thorin had asked after Bilbo’s health in the privacy of his office.

            “I think half the reason why he doesn’t want you sleeping on Erebor’s doorsteps is that he wants you to have a better place to stay,” Balin once had mused, sitting on a park bench next to Bilbo on a weekend. Balin would sometimes take Bilbo out to eat on the weekends when his job at the Inn allowed him a few extra hours of free time. They never went anywhere very fancy, but they would always go for a short walk afterwards at a nearby park, talking about life.

            “He’s been a right fool about this whole thing, honestly. It’s plain as day that he doesn’t hate you, and still he insists on being utterly ridiculous.”

            For a moment, Bilbo hadn’t known what to say.

            “Well, I hope you’re right.”

            Balin looked at him.

            “Bilbo, yesterday he asked me how you were doing _five times._ He cares about you, I just don’t think he’s realized it himself yet. Even a blind man could tell that he’s found his One. He’s just being a complete dunderhead.”

            Bilbo was blushing madly. That was the first time Balin ever said that he thought he was Thorin’s One.           

            “But Balin, we’re not even friends! He never says hello back to me, and when he isn’t ignoring my existence he’s cursing it! Just this morning you know he—”

            “Called the police again, laddie, I know, I was there. You should’ve heard Chief Bard over the phone, sounded completely done with the situation, the poor lad. By the way, how do you get away from them anyway? I swear it’s a miracle.”

            Again, Bilbo blushed under the praise, even if it was praise at his escaping the police.

            “Stop it Balin, it’s not that amazing.”

            At this, Balin became incredulous.

            “What do you mean, you’re as slippery as an eel! I swear if you decided to take up crime—”

            “O my god Balin, will you just—”

            “—the police wouldn’t stand a chance—”

            “Balin—”

            “—you’d be in and out with all of Erebor’s jewels, as rich as—”

            “Balin!”

            Balin was purpling with laughter, and eventually Bilbo couldn’t keep his face straight and was chuckling along with him.

            The next day, Thorin punched him.

            It was the only truly violent thing Thorin had done to him in all the months he’d slept in front of Erebor, and he would not deny the clenching in his chest, the hurt of such utter rejection, of such a dismissal. But the look that flashed across Thorin’s face right after he had punched Bilbo was enough to get the hobbit laughing again, if only so that guilt would leave from the dwarf’s eyes—he could not bear seeing such pain in his soulmate.

            The next day he had a blossoming black eye, but Balin had given him some pain killers so it wasn’t so bad. And Thorin’s tone had been gruff when he spoke with him, but his face was so concerned that Bilbo thought his heart would burst.

            The rest of his day had been much happier, and it wasn’t until late into the evening when he was walking out of Bree Supermarket that one of his coworkers, a dwarf named Dori, burst through the sliding doors, calling his name.

            Bilbo turned to speak with him, quickly noting the frantic with worry expression that Dori often wore when anything bad happened.

            “Dori! What’s wrong?”

            “You got a phone call from the hospital, Bilbo. It’s Frodo.”

            Bilbo just looked at him, blinking slowly, and the next thing he knew he was running to the hospital, his worn feet slamming painfully against the concrete, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. Dori yelled at him to come back, but Bilbo didn’t listen. It wasn’t until he pulled up next to Bilbo in a car that he paid the dwarf any attention, and even when they were speeding through red lights Bilbo wasn’t really focused on his surroundings. All he knew was that he was panting, and his hands were trembling and he didn’t know what to do.

            When they finally pulled into the hospital, Bilbo forgot to say thank you to Dori and shot out of the car before it was even completely stopped. He ran through the doors, not caring that he almost knocked over the security guard.

            As soon as Bofur saw him, the dwarf stood up and intercepted his mad rush to Frodo’s room.

            “Hold on Bilbo, everything’s alright.”

            Bilbo looked wide eyed at Bofur, trying to calm himself down and act like an adult. But it was hard to act proper and respectable when his Frodo was in danger, and all Bilbo could get out was a low whine instead of words.

            “Come here, let’s sit down.”

            Bofur led him over to a chair and they sat, Bilbo trying to get a hold of his breathing. Bofur rubbed soothing circles into his back, making a calming shushing noise when Bilbo tried to say something.

            “Frodo’s alive, Bilbo, there’s nothing to worry yourself over. There was just a short scare for a second, alright? Nothing serious, it just took the doctors by surprise.”

            Bilbo nodded his head, the panic attack leaving him drained and slightly dizzy, but Bofur was like a rock with his hand on his back and Bilbo suddenly was reminded of when he and Bofur first met, after his parents had died a week after they’d been admitted to the ER. Bofur had let him cry all over his shoulder.

            Dori came in shortly after having parked his car, and he hovered around Bilbo like he wanted to hug him but didn’t know if he was allowed to. Of course Bilbo pulled him in for one, and by then he had finally regained his composure.

            Apparently one of the tests had been swapped and it was just a management mistake, a false alarm. Nothing new was wrong with Frodo, in fact—

            “Dr Oin thinks he’ll be alright after this bone marrow transplant.” Bofur smiled down at Bilbo as they walked to Frodo’s room. Bilbo had thanked both Dori and Bofur profusely until Dori had said he needed to check up on his brother but “I’m here whenever you need me, Bilbo!”

            Bofur gave Bilbo a pat on the back when they got to Frodo’s room before he turned around to walk back to the front desk. Bilbo watched him go, telling him thank you again before he pushed open the door.

            Frodo was awake. He looked up from the book he was reading and a huge smile spread across his face when he saw Bilbo.

            “Uncle!”

            After that, Bilbo had sat and talked with Frodo for quite a while, catching him up with his life since he’d seen him last. Frodo slyly asked how Thorin was. Bilbo had told him he’d found his soulmate about two months ago, and he absolutely loved to tease Bilbo about it. Bilbo had scoffed, saying something sassy and amusing in response.

Bilbo wasn’t even ushered out of the room after Frodo had fallen asleep, the visiting hours having long since passed. He just remained there with his nephew, sitting in a chair by his bedside, watching his young one sleep. He needed to thank Bofur again for pulling some strings to let him stay for the night.

            After being scared so thoroughly like that, Bilbo just couldn’t leave Frodo. An irrational fear had grown in his mind, that if he left, Frodo would not be there when he got back. Which was stupid and ridiculous and silly.

But Bilbo didn’t leave.

            Indeed, it wasn’t until early in the morning when Bilbo woke to the beeping of machines that he realized that he had slept in the hospital, and not on the street in front of Erebor. Looking at the time, he saw that he was going to be late to work if he didn’t leave soon. So Bilbo quietly pressed a kiss to Frodo’s head, quickly scribbled a note telling his nephew that he loved him and the only reason he wasn’t there when he awoke was because he had to go to work.

            The day passed by like any normal day. Bilbo went to work. It was extremely cold, with the beginnings of winter setting in.

            A part of him felt empty because he hadn’t seen his soulmate that morning, but Bilbo told himself that it would be fine. He would see him tomorrow morning. Balin would tell him how Thorin had worried his pants off or something, and Bilbo would probably be getting the chastisement of a lifetime. Or maybe Thorin hadn’t even noticed that he was gone.

            It was when he was returning to Erebor for the night that he ran into them.

            It was just a small band of orcs, standing in a little bunch on the side of the road, leaning up against the building and smoking some cigarettes. Bilbo knew trouble when he saw it, and he went out of his way to cross the street so that he wouldn’t have to walk directly by them.

            A little while later down the road, he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing back casually, he saw the orcs walking toward him. Whipping his head back around, the hobbit tried to think quickly. What to do in this situation? He wasn’t even half way back to Erebor yet, and for some reason a gang of orcs was following him.

           The hobbit started walking a little faster, and as soon as he saw a drug store he turned towards it. If he could just make it inside there, maybe someone would have a phone or something—

           Bilbo never made it to that drug store.

           A huge hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Bilbo startled, jumping in fear. Glancing up, he looked right into the eyes of a huge, pale orc who was grinning down at him.

          “Hello little man, we were wondering if you wanted to walk with us for a little while?”

           Bilbo gulped, and tried his best not to stutter, steadying his voice and his heart.

          “Look, I’m homeless. I don’t have any money or anything. I’m really not worth your time.”

          The pale orc just grinned all the more.


End file.
